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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



THE WRITINGS OF 
VICTOR ROBINSON 

GODWIN AND MARY WOLLSTONE- 
CRAFT (1907) 

COMRADE KROPOTKIN (1908) 

A SYMPOSIUM ON HUMANITARIANS 
(1909) 

AN ESSAY ON HASHEESH (1912) 

PATHFINDERS IN MEDICINE (1912) 

POEMS (1913) 



POEMS 



BY 

VICTOR ROBINSON 

w 



THE ALTRURIANS 

12 Mount Morris Park West 

New York City 

1913 



,0>' 



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Copyright, 1913 
By THE ALTRURIANS 




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OFFIOfi 



Poems in this collection have appeared in Life, The Brooklyn Eagle, The 
Photographic Times, etc. 



OCT 21 1314 

ICLA397868 



TO CHARLES RECHT 

My dear Charles: 

We both profess to love Literature; nevertheless, 
you have become an attorney, and I have strayed in 
the fields of science. But while I am content to 
complacently regard you as a lawyer with a literary 
attachment, you seem to consider my devotion to 
Hippocrates an apostasy to the Muse. 

Indeed, you recently addressed a note to me, con- 
taining these gentle sentiments : 

" Pestilence on thee, thou arrogant, f eelingless, in- 
sipid knave. May you yet become famous for the 
discovery of some damned bug— for there can be 
no greater punishment than to scale the heights of 
Helicon, not on glorious Pegasus, but on bugs, just 
bugs. Shades of Keats and Shelley! Oh, Bacchus, 
hold my sides, for I will laugh myself to death at the 
sight of Victor Robinson climbing Olympus on the 
back of a slow-moving ugly bug . . " 

In order that you may judge whether or not your 
letter is libelous, I present you these poems, most 
of which were written since the receipt of your Bull 
of Excommunication. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Merry Christmas 9 

Arcady 10 

A Russian Song 11 

The Caucasus 12 

The Blue Grotto of Capri 13 

L^ Hasheesh 14 

The Unembellished One 15 

The Mother 16 

A Child's Song 17 

To Little Marcella 18 

Superstition 19 

Sunset 20 

John Keats 21 

To the Same 22 

Paul Laurence Dunbar 23 

After Reading Strindberg 24 

Ernst Haeckel 25 

Ingersoll 26 

Dr Abraham Jacobi 27 

Dr Mary Putnam 28 

Alla Nazimova 29 

Hugh Owen Pentecost 30 

An Epitaph 32 

The Passing of Gershuni 33 

General Jacob Smith 34 

A Dedication 36 



PAGE 

With Walt Whitman . . . . 37 

At Leucadia 38 

Anacreon . 39 

Rag-Time 40 

Tuberculosis 41 

Virtue < . 42 

The Past 43 

Photography 45 

The First Kiss 46 

After the Quarrel 47 

Repentance 48 

A Rondelet 50 

A Rondeau 51 

Antony and Cleopatra 52 

The Bargain of Faust 53 

Atlas 54 

Spring and Sadness . . . 55 

In Spring 56 

The Cross of Scorn 57 

To 58 

Youth 59 

A Withered Rose 60 

A Petition 61 

Finis 63 



I 

MERRY CHRISTMAS 

ON Christmas eve, \vithin the tenement, 
The widowed mother heard her children pray: 
"O loving God, O please on Christmas-day, 
Tell Santa Claus we want a bundle sent; 
We hang our stockings up, and sleep content." 
The woman heard their faith with wild dismay, 
An empty purse cannot for playthings pay, 
And all her coin had gone for food and rent. 

So Christmas came. The little children woke, 
And rushed to find the prayed-for doll and drum, 
Then silent stood, with disappointment wrung; 
While in her chair, as if her heart had broke, 
The mother sat with mother's anguish dumb, 
And up above, the empty stockings hung. 



[9] 



II 

ARCADY 

FROM this unsympathetic town of trade, 
Where men are unresponsive as their gold, 
Where serfs are overworked and underpaid, 
And even love is daily bought and sold — 
Where tooting Triton's horn is never heard, 
Where Pan's idyllic pipes are strangely still, 
And philomel, the bard's immortal bird 
Is rarely seen at eve on mossy hill — 
Let me escape and swiftly speed away 
To Arcady, the land of my desire, 
Where lovely naiads, decked with garlands gay, 
Applaud the great Apollo's golden lyre, 
While Iacchus, beneath his leafy shrine, 
Entreats these nymphs to sip his nectared wine. 



[10] 



Ill 

A RUSSIAN SONG 

ITS ardent mate the linnet calls, 
To serenade the evening star, 
But strong and cold are granite walls, 
And merciless is Russia's czar. 

The iron doors shut out the bird, 
I cannot hear an insect hum, 

But how my youthful blood is stirred, 
Because the April days have come! 

Last night I dreamt of Catharine, 
Her girlish voice I seemed to hear, 

And when I played the violin, 

She silent grew, and came more near. 

Awake! for me the exile's snow — 
Ossinsky's child should not repine, 

But ah, once more before I go, 
If I could feel her lips on mine! 



[ii] 



IV 

THE CAUCASUS 

AND the eagles soar 
To the clouds on high, 
And the torrents roar 

With a mighty cry, 
And the whirlwinds scowl 

At the mountain-pass, 
And the bisons howl 

In their throaty bass, 
And the jackals turn 

On the murdered thing, 
And the fires burn 

In the naphtha spring, 
And the leopards leap 

O'er the lonely sand, 
And the summits weep 

For a human hand, 
And the lightnings flash 

With a golden rain, 
And the thunders crash 

Like a god in pain, 
And the horses prance 

To the Sable Sea, 
And the maidens glance 

At a youth like me. 



[12] 



V 

THE BLUE GROTTO OF CAPRI 

WITHIN a cryptic cave, 
Where neither wind nor wave, 
Will ever roll or rave — 
In sapphire-tinged Capri, 
There flows an azure sea 
Of lapis lazuli. 

Beyond the ocean's noise, 
Like one of Neptune's toys, 
A watery turquoise — 
Ethereal the hue, 
More delicate the blue 
Than hyacinth e'er knew. 

A poet's palace where 
A mermaid young and fair, 
Might comb her golden hair — 
Except on Naples' Bay 
Such joys will never stay, 
Like dreams they float away. 



[13] 



VI 

HASHEESH 

NEAR Punjab and Pab, in Sutlej and Sind, 
Where the cobras-di-capello abound, 
Where the poppy, palm and the tamarind, , 
With cummin and ginger festoon the ground — 
And the capsicum fields are all abloom, 
From the hills above to the vales below, 
Entrancing the air with a rich perfume, 
There too does the greenish Cannabis grow: 
Inflaming the blood with the living fire, 
Till the burning joys like the eagles rise, 
And the pulses throb with a strange desire, 
While passion awakes with a wild surprise : — 
O to eat that drug, and to dream all day, 
Of the maids that live by the Bengal Bay! 



[14] 



VII 

THE UNEMBELLISHED ONE 

DRAPE me with a fig-leaf, said Prudery. 
Decorate me with epaulets, said Mediocrity. 

Clothe me in the dress of righteousness, said Sin. 

Deck me with the garments of innocence, said Vice. 

Put sincerity's gown upon my shoulders, said Deceit. 

Place the crown of fidelity on my brow, said Dis- 
loyalty. 

Cover me with the draperies of love, said Lust. 

Give me the staff of tolerance, said Persecution. 

Adorn me with the cloak of liberty, said Tyranny. 

Beautify me with the dress of duty, said Irresponsi- 
bility. 

Garb me with the habiliments of humility, said Pride. 

Then Truth said: Let me be naked and unashamed. 



[15] 



VIII 
THE MOTHER 

SHE sang unto her babe alone, 
In voice untrained and wrong, 
But ah! her face in glory shone, 
And was the sweetest song. 



[16] 



IX 
A CHILD'S SONG 

OCALL unto the pigeons, 
For they will come to thee, 
The soft and sister pigeons, 

That coo so lovingly; 
Then touch these tender pigeons, 

For such a baby should 
Embrace all gentle pigeons, 
And teach them to be good. 

O walk among the lilies, 

The flowers fair and pale, 
The white and virgin lilies, 

That glorify the vale; 
Among the modest lilies, 

That grace the lowly moor, 
O look upon the lilies, 

And teach them to be pure. 



[17] 



X 

TO LITTLE MARCELLA 

WITH scant propriety, 
From table manners free, 
No warnings ever learned, 
With customs unconcerned, 
A life that knows no rest, 
From noise and vim and jest; 
With nimble hand and quick, 
This modern Alaric, 
Destroys with careless whack, 
Italian bric-a-brac — 
Unfettered, laughing, wild, 
Like Nature's untamed child. 

When older you will grow 

A dozen years or so, 

No longer bold and wild, 

But Fashion's careful child, 

With manners prim and staid, 

In evening gowns arrayed, 

With many rules beset, 

Much learned in etiquette, 

A parlor's proper queen, 

Sedate at seventeen — 

Then learn from cousin's rhyme, 

How you behaved one time. 



[18] 



XI 
SUPERSTITION 

A SUPERSTITION overthrown, 
■* *■ May raise again its head, 
But superstition once outgrown, 
Remains forever dead. 



[19] 



XII 

SUNSET 

DREAM vague dreams of long ago, 
■■■ And yearning stirs and overspills, 
At twilight time, when sad and slow, . 
The sun goes down behind the hills. 

For once primeval man in awe, 

When first his eyes had found the west, 

Upon a mountain stood and saw 
The sun at evening seek its rest. 



[20] 



XIII 

JOHN KEATS 

1SAT last night before my library, 
Dreaming fondly of all my precious tomes, 
Musing on ancient and on modern poems, 
When chancing to think of Melpomene, 
There trooped into my sorrow-stricken mind, 
An olden thought which still its pang repeats: 
The fevered life and tragic fate of Keats, 
With Blackwood cruel and Fanny Brawne un- 
kind. — 
But then there came another thought more blest, 
That tho all Britain on him poured its bile, 
From cobbler Gifford to Scott and Carlyle, 
In Thessaly, pronounced an honored guest, 
He strode thru laurels that his song had won, 
To be acclaimed Apollo's gifted son. 



[21] 



XIV 
TO THE SAME 

IN Rome, in yonder secluded hollow, 
Where virginal flowers tenderly creep, 
And mournful-eyed daisies silently weep, 
Lies the best-beloved boy of Apollo. 
From Flora he received a fragrant stem, 
And magic wings from Hermes' flying feet, 
And Phoebus gave to him a diadem, 
And Arcadian Pan a woodland seat; 
Shy Dian, whom no artifice could win, 
Who let no radiant youth pursue her, 
Nor e'en the glorious gods to woo her, 
Exposed her tender self undraped to him. 
Unmourned by unpoetic earth he died, 
But nightingales among the roses cried. 



[22] 



XV 
PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 

CHILD of a race which is cursed with a brand 
Crueler than that which marked the brow of 
Cain, 
Toiling for ages with physical hand, 
But leaving untouched the reasoning brain. 
Yet thou, O Dunbar, wert caressed by one 
Who beckons only genius to her side, 
Who touched the lips of Keats and Chatterton, 
And like these too in youthful days you died. 
But first you sang those dulcet Afric songs, 
All tinged with gentle Poesy's golden glow, 
Breathing the plaintive airs of negro wrongs, 
Lyrics of the humble and of the low. 
On Olympiads scroll thy name is writ, 
Safe from racial taunts and the rabble's wit. 



[23] 



XVI 

AFTER READING STRINDBERG 

1FEEL myself upon the rack, 
My heart which should be strong is white, 
My soul which should be pure is black, 
I should say much but cannot write. 



M 



XVII 
ERNST HAECKEL 

REJOICE that he lived not in Calvin's time, 
When philosophic men endured the stake, 
And systematic thought was deemed a crime, 
And Bruno died for Observation's sake. 
His lot was cast in those happier days, 
When noble Science, raising up her head, 
Enriched herself in Darwinian rays, 
And cried aloud, I live and am not dead. 
From Reason's sky is shining Haeckel's name, 
And Torquemadas cannot rack his bones, 
Nor torture him with iron boot and flame, 
Altho in Rome itself in daring tones 
He spoke of Progress, and to all the world 
The Banner of Monistic Truth unfurled. 



[25] 



XVIII 
INGERSOLL 

TO courts the poet laureate may sing 
His servile rhymes, and tune his fawning 
lays, 
While we for better men have better praise, 
And chant no odes to please a worthless king. 

But he who smote the armaments of wrong 
To pierce the veil of superstition's night, 
And swung thruout the dark the lamp of light, 

Deserves indeed the poet's highest song. 

Long years he sought the Truth and stood alone, 
Yet scorned to count the private loss or gain, 
But broke the ancient links of legend's chain, 

And laughed Jehovah off his vengeful throne. 

The human race to Freedom's land he led, 
And as he wrought, beneath his eyelids fell 
The tears that quenched the flames of Calvin's hell, 

And set the star of mercy there instead. 



[26] 



XIX 

DR ABRAHAM JACOBI 

WITHIN the darkened room he slowly stept, 
Where lay the sickly child that none could 
save, 
And when he saw the case, his heart misgave 
That he could help; for long had fever crept 
Among its limbs, and tho its mother wept, 

Disease had brought the cradle near the grave; 
But thru the night, all patiently and brave, 
The great physician worked — and no one slept. 

And then, as oft before, he fed the flame 
Of life, till convalescence did begin . . . 

From out the darkened room Jacobi came, 

The maddened mother followed from within — 

The child will live, the doctor's looks proclaim, 
To anxious eyes that drink the meaning in. 



[27] 



XX 

DR MARY PUTNAM 

SHE walks no more the crowded mart, 
Nor sails to France across the seas, 
This sister of the healing art, 
This daughter of Hippocrates. 

Here is her room — hold up the light — 
Here climb the steps she used to tread, 

Alas, she is not home to-night, 
But sleeps upon a distant bed. 

Her office hears no step of late, 
The sign is taken from the sill, 

And invalids refuse to wait 

For one whose hand has lost its skill. 

So wise thy brain, so kind thy heart, 
We mourn thy death on bended knees, 

Thou sister of the healing art, 
O daughter of Hippocrates! 



[28] 



XXI 

ALLA NAZIMOVA 

ACTRESS, there is more beauty in thy voice, 
Than I had thought to hear in present day, 
And ceaselessly my spirit does rejoice 
To see before mine eyes a living fay. 

Art's garland rests upon thy classic brow, 

Entranced, I dream again of Greece and Rome, 

For ne'er has breathed a nymph more fair than thou, 
Not she, who slowly stepped from out the foam. 



[29] 



XXII 
HUGH OWEN PENTECOST 

WHEN Pentecost shall breathe his last, 
Outstretched upon the final bed, 
The Press will not record his past, 

The People will not mourn their dead. 

For Pentecost has won no place 

Upon the scroll of public fame; 
And future ages will not trace 

His words, his thoughts, his deeds, his name. 

But we who know what spirit burns 
Within his longing throbbing breast, 

Who know for what his being yearns, 
Enlink his name with Freedom's best. 

We've watched him speak the burning word, 
Against an ancient custom hurled, 

We've seen him scorn the human herd, 
And rise serene against a world. 

A fighter's soul, and yet so bland, 

Denouncing gods, defying laws, 
With new ideas he takes his stand, 

E'en tho he lose a world's applause. 

Iconoclast, unbound, unchained, 
So far from old and musty rules, 

O Freedom's son, what have you gained, 
By losing hoary cults and schools? 

[30] 



YouVe gained a spirit unconfined, 

That roams the earth without a chain, 

YouVe gained a free unfettered mind, 
Which laughs to scorn the creeds inane. 

YouVe gained the right to speak for man; 

To weep for babes in cotton-mills ; 
To plead for girls, who sick and wan, 

Still ply the deadly trade that kills. 

By Albert Parsons' side you stand, 

And Lingg, and all who've gained the right, 
To hold aloft thruout the land, 

Pure Freedom's great and holy light. 



[31] 



XXIII 
AN EPITAPH 

TOO suddenly by Time's keen sickle mown, 
Was not our gentle George too young to die? 
Ah Death, what made you carve so soon this stone? 
Why question Fate, when Fate will not reply? 

Humane to all, but best to babes and wife, 
Unselfish George, thru many weary years, 

Will memory recall your faultless life, 

And strew this spot with endless love and tears. 



[32] 



XXIV 

THE PASSING OF GERSHUNI 

WE hear the voice of Freedom weeping, 
Upon her heart a mighty blow, 
She looks upon Gershuni sleeping, 
The great Conspirator is low. 

To-day the Cossack's knout is longer, 
To-day the hangman's rope is thick, 

To-day the despot's throne is stronger, 
To-day the exile's heart is sick. 

O dreadful wound that knows no healing, 
And after years shall leave its scar, 

While meantime Russia must be kneeling, 
At feet of Krushevan and Czar. 



[33] 



XXV 
GENERAL JACOB SMITH 

I'M off to be a hero proud, 
For men will call me great, 
When with the shriek of bullets loud, 
The foe I desolate. 

I'll paint the Philippinos red 
With Yankee-Doodle's fire; 

I'll crowd Manila's shore with dead, 
And trample on desire. 

And I will shoot all over ten, 

And crush rebellion sure, 
By torturing the bolo-men, 

With Hell-Jake's water-cure. 

With death the brownies will I mate, 
And make the cannon roar; 

I'll slay with patriotic hate, 
Those I've not seen before. 

Exultingly the men we'll kill, 

And women we will rape, 
As on we march from hill to hill, 

And sail from cape to cape. 

Now by my Mauser-loving host, 
So many men shall bleed, 

That Father, Son and Holy Ghost, 
Will bless my valiant deed. 

[34] 



And when their homes I desecrate, 
With whizzing bullets loud, 

My Uncle Sam will hail me great, 
A man of whom he's proud. 



[35] 



T 



XXVI 

A DEDICATION 

O you I love, yet never met, 
The perfect girl I never met, 
Oh all my life I sought for you, 
I dedicate my book to you. 



Your ancestry I do not know, 
Your name and age I do not know, 
But since a child I dreamt of you, 
I consecrate my songs to you. 

To-day my life is incomplete, 
It always has been incomplete, 
For I have looked in vain for you, 
But now I send my poems to you. 



[36] 



XXVII 
WITH WALT WHITMAN 

1 WONDER if your bosom fills 
In thinking of a maple tree, 
And one sweet day upon the hills, — 
The hills which overlook the sea. 

O tell me if you ever dream 

Of that blessed time beneath the tree, 
Of that dear day of golden gleam, 

In which you read Old Walt to me? 

Ah Maiden of the deep brown eyes, 
And Maiden of the gentle voice, 

We spent a day beneath the skies, 
In which you read to me my choice! 

To feel your breath beneath the trees, 
A day of Walt and you and me, 

O whisper thru the summer breeze, 
If that was not a trinity? 



[373 



XXVIII 
AT LEUCADIA 

1 MUSED upon my sister's fate, 
Who many years ago, 
Because her Phaon would not mate, 
Embraced the depths below. 

I too have thought, O rocky steep, 
From off your silent height, 

To spring into the lonely deep, 
And sink far out of sight. 



[38] 



XXIX 
ANACREON 

THE Teian strikes his lyre and sings 
Of life's enchanting goal, 
And out there steps a lad who brings 
To him the sparkling bowl. 

The Teian turns from Vulcan stern, 

His odes are not of war, 
He only cares of joy to learn, 

And maidens to adore. 

His only saint is Cupid sweet, 

His only shrine is love, 
He worships but at woman's feet, 

And knows no gods above. 

His chants are filled with blushing girls, 

The lines are sweet with kiss, 
They are entwined with charming curls, 

And overflow with bliss. 

His songs are warm with pressing arms, 
They swoon with lovely dreams, 

They palpitate with female charms, 
And amatory themes. 

Dear bard, we hope your songs ne'er cease, 

For they exult no war, 
But tell of wine and love and peace, 

And women we adore. 

[39] 






XXX 

RAG-TIME 

A RAG-TIME tune of love in June 
Came floating down the street, 
Where Madge and I, had said good-by, 
And planned no more to meet. 

But such a tune will soften soon 

A lyric-hearted pair, 
And Madge and I, we won't deny, 

Have sentiment to spare. 

Behind the door of someone's store 
We stole like morning mist; 

My arm embraced her shapely waist, 
And so we softly kissed. 



[40] 



XXXI 

TUBERCULOSIS 

AGAIN the doleful Fall is here, 
And thru the lifeless grove, 
Where sleep the leaves decayed and sere, 
Without my friend I rove. 

It is a year since she is dead, 
She died when Autumn came, 

When all the trees their glory shed, 
And fields were filled with pain. 

I can't forget a night in June, 
We walked upon these lands, 

And Mary hummed a tender tune, 
While we were holding hands. 

That jingling lilting song contained 

A hint no lad would miss, 
And on her hair and face I rained 

The lover's thirsty kiss. 

O dying days, you've come once more, 
And mournful leaves are shed, 

O Great White Plague, upon what shore, 
Have you outlaid her bed? 



[41] 



XXXII 

VIRTUE 

GOOD-BY, and come no more to me, 
Too long youVe tarried here; 
You must not speak of love to me, 
For I am married, dear. 

I've sold myself for room and board, 

What can I know of Love? 
Below I serve an earthly lord, 

And worship One above. 

If Custom's grip were not so great, 

I would my heart obey; 
I'd leave at once the man I hate, 

And go with you to-day. 

But never could I stand the frown ; 

I could not bear the jeer; 
The Christian look would drag me down; 

So you must leave me here. 

Ah, never come again to me, 
Too long you've lingered now, 

You should not speak of love to me, 
For I must keep my vow. 



[42] 



XXXIII 

THE PAST 

A H well, I guess I better rise, 
■* ^ It really does no good to weep, 
It's time to wipe my reddened eyes, 
And seek repose in drowsy sleep. 

I've lain beneath the setting sun 

And watched my tears like rivers roll, 

And sorrowfully thought of one 

Whom Martha loved with all her soul. 

They lived a year as man and wife, 

Until he grew dissatisfied . . . 
Then friends despaired of Martha's life, 

And asked each morn if she had died. 

Ten times she begged for suicide, 
And shrieked as one of sense bereft, 

And tossed so much from side to side, 

They thought it strange that breath was left. 

But after many days had fled, 

She held my hands and kissed my face, 

And even laughed and softly said 
I filled her fickle lover's place. 

Now there are days when breast to breast, 
We stay all morn and noon and eve, 

But there are times I think it best 
Her cold disdain to quickly leave. 

[43] 



And then I cry beneath the tree, 
And ask of it by night and day- 

O does she give her love to me, 
Or to the man who ran away? 



[44] 



XXXIV 

PHOTOGRAPHY 

THE light that shines by day, uplit the scene, 
While glowed with warmth the open esplanade, 
Imparting joy to that Arcadic maid 
Who romped with me across the bright terrene, 
And down the sloping vales that intervene, — 

Till languid from the heat, she sought the shade, 
Unloosed her hair as if in masquerade, 
And sat beneath the cooling evergreen. 

I stood ten paces off and watched her pose : 

The camera I took, the focus set, 
The crystal finder did her charms disclose, — 

(She stretched her hand to pluck a violet), 
I pressed the bulb, and rapidly she rose, 

And years have passed — but I can see her yet. 



[453 



XXXV 

THE FIRST KISS 

ALL night IVe lain awake in thought, and yet — 
Who can explain that strangely sweet sur- 
prise ? 
With hopes that dared not hope I sought your 
eyes, 
When came the miracle — our warm lips met ; 
Then timidly, as shrinks the violet, 

You shrank from me, and I could but surmise, 
Altho that pristine kiss did canonize 
My life, that you the deed did half regret. 

But Fm a man, and ardent ecstasy 

Aroused my blood, which swelled with joy and 
pride — 
Ah, never did I dream that this could be, 

For I am hallowed now and sanctified, 
O heart of mine, here is a memory 

At last, to cherish long and guard and hide ! 



[46] 



XXXVI 

AFTER THE QUARREL 

I HURRIED past her stoop to-day, 
Alas, I dared not touch her bell, 
The marble steps are cold and gray. 

I turned my anxious eyes away, 

With rage the columns seemed to swell, 
I hurried past her stoop to-day. 

And why we fought I cannot say, 

But since that time I've learnt too well 
The marble steps are cold and gray. 

Last month we loved the nights away, 

And who would think that I would tell 
I hurried past her stoop to-day? 

My life is now in disarray, 

I'll dream to-night that deep in hell 
The marble steps are cold and gray. 

Oh meet again we never may, 

So ends my moaning villanelle: 
I hurried past her stoop to-day, 
The marble steps are cold and gray. 



[47] 



XXXVII 
REPENTANCE 

I WRITE again ; I can refrain no more, 
For time flies on, and why should I delay? 
Were I less jealous, were my heart less sore, 

More courtesy, my dear, could I display; 
But when you smiled at him, an oath I swore: 

To bid your ladyship a long good-day, 
To turn at once the key in friendship's door, 
And go upon my solitary way. 

Perhaps you deem that one whose blood is high, 

Will make no futile efforts to explain, 
But Edith, if you wish me to reply, 

I'll ask the lonely days that oft complain 
Of tasks untouched, to tell the reason why 

My ancient pride so soon succumbed to pain: 
Nor will the vague and empty nights deny 

That still I dream of thee, and dream in vain. 

How could I know that nothing would endow 

My spirit with a balm for calmness' sake? 
Was it too much for Nature to allow — 

A task that Time refused to undertake? 
As by that bolted door I humbly bow, 

The oath that then I took to-day I break, 
For I am weak and cannot keep my vow, 

And who can argue with a heart's mistake? 

[48] 



The strange perversities that men commit, 

When they desire their passions to impale, 
At times with much relief and benefit, 

Have all been tried by me without avail. 
One reckless time — details I should omit — 

When loneliness had made resistance frail, 
I flung away my love in one mad fit, 

But saw your features thru the darkened veil. 



[49] 



XXXVIII 
A RONDELET 

WHEN first we met, 
She seemed more cold than words 
can say; 
When first we met, 
She spoke so much of etiquette, 
I never thought to see the day, 
When we would kiss the night away, 
When first we met. 



[50] 



XXXIX 
A RONDEAU 

WHEN baby comes, it means good-by 
To former ways; I'll tell you why, 
Since you're too good to think of it — 
That we deceive our wives a bit, 
Alas, we hardly can deny. 

To meet a former flame we try, 
We hate to see our hearts run dry, 
But pranks like these it's time to quit, 
When baby comes. 

So potent is an infant's sigh, 
To daddy's watchful ear and eye, 
No more in slippered ease we sit, 
But walk the floor all night with it, 
To Morpheus we say good-by, 
When baby comes. 



[51] 



XL 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 

WITH tuneful sounds the barge came down the 
Nile, 
And on her couch the queen of Egypt l^y ; 
While smitten Antony, to gain her smile, 

Well knew that he would cast the world away. 

Upon her breast the helpless man forgot 
His former deeds, Octavia and home; 

For in his veins the pulsing blood was hot, 
And fairer Egypt grew to him than Rome. 

One night — he was no more a man of Mars — 
All fragrant smells her garden did exhale, 

Then Cleopatra danced beneath the stars, 
And raised for Antony her final veil. 

He thought the gates of heaven had unrolled, 
That he, the happy god, far out did lean, 

With burning eyes, that he might much behold 
What Paradise itself had never seen. 



[52] 



_ 



XLI 

THE BARGAIN OF FAUST 

MY peaceful days the spring-time ever wrecks, 
For I succumb in high and fevered heat, 
As soon as April's wanton lure of sex 

Begins to warm my blood with Marguerite. 

So strong the tides of passion rise and roll, 
That I will kneel at Satan's cloven feet, 

And then, like Faust, I'll barter up my soul, 
If he but give me youth and Marguerite. 



[53] 



XLII 

ATLAS 

TO meet the gods I do not strive to climb, 
The home of Jove I have no strength to 
raid, 
But I can reach at evening's joyous time, 
My Adelaide. 

I am not cast in any Titan mold, 

No firmament is on my shoulders laid, 

But Atlas-like upon my knees I hold, 
My Adelaide. 



[54] 



XLIII 
SPRING AND SADNESS 

NOW the chilling breath has ceased to blow, 
And the winds have ceased to moan, 
And the new-born plants in beauty grow, 
But I tramp the hills alone. 

Oft I watch the warbler woo its mate, 

Its songs by the breezes blown, 
And an unloved heart calls out to fate, 

Ah, why must I live alone? 

And the blooming earth then hears my cry, 

And the hills resound my moan: 
Prepare ye a dismal place to die, 

For the one who lives alone. 



[55] 



XLIV 
IN SPRING 

THE waddling gander has his goose, 
His passion she inspires; 
And lordly ram with pleasures loose, 
Fulfills his sex desires. 

The strutting cock pursues the hen; 

The boar is roused by swine; 
The bull's whole frame is thrilling when 

He starts to love the kine. 



[56] 



XLV 
THE CROSS OF SCORN 

COQUETTE, the sky is black to-night, 
The world is false and mean, 
And at my heart is hugging tight, 
With grip so great and keen, 

A void, an ache, for I have failed 

In love; and sick, forlorn, 
With your indifference I'm nailed 

Upon the Cross of Scorn. 

My pain is red and raw and rude, 

Unshamed, I cry aloud, 
For I must walk in solitude, 

Among the throbbing crowd. 

A citadel I long assailed, 

But sank, much bruised and torn — 
And in the fall my heart was nailed 

Upon the Cross of Scorn. 



[57] 



XLVI 
TO 



IN Sunshine or in Shadow's day, 
We two will sail from shore to shore, 
And Love will lead the wondrous way, 
Till Death calls out, No more, no more. 

How very gladly would I bless 

The giving up of any prize, 
The biting sting of unsuccess, 

If it but cause your love to rise; 

I may be chained by common fears, 
I may not climb the highest steep, 

And I may feel the taunting jeers, 
Yet if thy love I ever keep, 

So jauntily we two will sail 
And go unto the farthest shore, 

Thru joyous calm or heavy gale, 

Till Death calls out, No more, no more. 



[58] 



T 



XLVII 
YOUTH 

HE dance begins, come choose your mate, 
And do not think of time or fate ; 
Once more the wanton waltz strike up, 
And when we're thru we'll pass the cup; 
We'll drink to eyes which brightly shine, 
So pledge your lass and I'll pledge mine; 
Oho, we'll love and loafe and laugh, 
Again we'll sing, again we'll quaff; 
For we are young, and night and day, 
We'll sweetly waste our lives away. 



[59] 



XLVIII 
A WITHERED ROSE 

DESPONDENT I called on Theresa to-day, 
After waiting awhile, to ease the delay, 
I picked from her desk Owen Meredith's book, 
Again thru that story quite ready to look. 

The pages I turned, and my heart seemed to 

reel, 
For plainly I saw in the leaves of Lucile, 
At the place, at the end of the sixth canto's 

close, 
Theresa had pressed what I gave her — a rose. 

My lady, for you such a passion I feel, 
As the Due de Louvois long felt for Lucile, 
Be my fate more kind, for to-night I propose, 
On the strength, O beloved, of one withered 
rose. 



[60] 



XLIX 

A PETITION 

DISTURBED, but not broken-hearted, 
I learned I must meet you no more, 
I smiled perhaps as we parted, 
And hurried away from your door. 

But day by day I am feeling 
A sorrow disquieten my breast, 

While over my heart comes stealing 
A deeper and keener unrest. 

And now my memory treasures 

The joys that have come to an end, 

For I think of all the pleasures 

You gave me when you were my friend. 

In Summer's glorious weather, 
At Rockaway and Coney's sands, 

We went everywhere together, 

With laughter and holding of hands. 

I think how your eyes were glowing, 

How gaily we chatted away, 
The times we idly spent rowing 

On Pelham's azurean Bay. 

Is this bliss then lost forever, 
My spirit no more to beguile? 

Your pleasant cheek will I never 
See dimpled again in a smile? 
[61] 



All day I have been so lonely, 
I wandered about in my den, 

And all the time I thought only 
Of seeing your features again. 

Relent, O little Sultana, 

Admit me once more to your sight, 
What will you say, lovely Anna, 

If I ring your door-bell to-night? 



[62] 



L 

FINIS 

PERHAPS these songs have made a foe, 
Perhaps they gained a friend; 
Alas, it hardly boots to know, 
So soon we write — " The End." 



[63] 



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